


Millions Of Miles Under My Heels

by GotTheSilver



Series: Wanderlust [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Travel, Wanderlust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a gift fill for <a href="http://insmallpackages.livejournal.com">In Small Packages</a>.  The prompt was "Derek/Stiles - Five Years Later".</p><p>  <i>He doesn’t like to think about Ecuador.  When he does, all he remembers is blood, dead children and crying parents.  Stiles thinks he helped, got rid of what was taking the children, but he couldn’t be sure.  He’d left quickly.</i></p><p>  <i>(Sometimes what he remembers stops him from sleeping)</i></p><p>  <i>Stiles fled to Tijuana.  He got lost in a bottle.  In several bottles.  He turned 19 in Tijuana.  He doesn’t remember it.  He thinks he called Derek.</i></p><p>  <i>(Derek never said either way)</i></p><p>  <i>One day he woke up sweaty, still drunk, and looked at the date.  Stiles realised it was his mother’s birthday.  He threw up and booked a flight out of Mexico.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Millions Of Miles Under My Heels

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Audioslave - I Am The Highway.

Stiles didn’t go to college straight after Graduation. When he told his dad about his plans, he’d expected disappointment, expected to be leaving with a shadow over him, but - his dad had just shaken his head and said how very much like his mom Stiles was. Stiles had almost collapsed in relief, would’ve if it hadn’t been for his dad hugging him so hard Stiles thought his ribs might bruise. That night, his dad told him about the plans his mother had had, the places she’d wanted to go. He’d given Stiles the maps she’d saved, the notes she’d made. Stiles had sat awake all night on his bed, traced his fingers across the soft paper, the colours on the maps and the faded ink in her notebooks. He’d changed part of his plans, started to include places his mom had been interested in.

After his dad, the next person he told was Deaton. Stiles wanted to know who, and what, he could expect to run into on his travels. Deaton had nodded and said he’d have information for him by the end of the week. It wasn’t like Stiles was going to go looking for supernatural trouble, but he couldn’t deny it seemed to find him. This way, he could be prepared, as much as a human with a spark of magic could be prepared. When he came back to the Veterinary Clinic, Deaton had the information Stiles had asked for, but there was another notebook. It was filled with names, places, things they specialised in. Stiles questioned what it was, and Deaton smiled, suggested to Stiles that if he ever wanted to know more about his gift, he should look these people up.

Stiles told the pack all at once. It was cowardly, he knew it was. If he’d been a bigger man, he would’ve told them individually - he would’ve told Derek separately. Scott too. He should’ve told Scott separately, Scott would’ve understood Stiles’ need to run for a while. Scott wasn’t the one who would’ve wanted him to stay. Stiles never knew if Derek wanted him to stay - he knew Derek would’ve never asked, but there had been moments where - if Stiles had thought about it in detail, he’s not sure he would’ve left. Derek hadn’t glared at him when Stiles had told the pack, he’d just stared. Stared a lot. He’d climbed in Stiles’ room that night and - Stiles had no idea what Derek had wanted. Derek had crawled into Stiles’ bed and fallen asleep before Stiles had even realised what was going on. Stiles had spent more time than he’d ever admit sat in the chair by his bed, watching Derek sleep, until he’d finally given in and climbed into bed with Derek.

Derek had been gone by the time Stiles woke up the next day, he’d left a package for Stiles, sloppily wrapped in old newspaper with no note. It had contained various powders, a talisman and an old book that Stiles knew had been part of the Hale family collection. He’d made room for it all in his backpack.

Stiles left at night. His dad was working the late shift, they’d had dinner, his dad gave him some cash, a firm hug and a reminder to call whenever he could. Stiles watched him leave for work, stood in the doorway until the tail lights faded away and went upstairs to grab his backpack. He’d given one last look to the photo of his mom and smiled before he’d turned away and closed the door behind him. Stiles had been about to throw his backpack in the Jeep, when Derek had appeared from the shadows and made him jump. Derek had taken the keys from Stiles’ hand and commandeered the driver’s seat. All Stiles could do was shake his head and climb into the Jeep.

They’d pulled up at the airport. Derek’s hands had been clenching the steering wheel and Stiles hadn’t been able to leave. He’d put a hand over one of Derek’s and Derek’s body had deflated. Stiles had pulled his hand back, started to get out of the Jeep when Derek had grabbed Stiles’ arm.

(“Just come back,” he’d said. “Come back.”)

Stiles had swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded, threw a smile at Derek before he’d headed towards the airport. He’d been able to feel Derek’s eyes on him the whole way and had known that Derek wouldn’t leave until his flight had left. Stiles had never looked back.

\--

Three weeks in, Stiles got caught up in a territory dispute between witches and trolls in Illinois, he ended up negotiating a treaty that satisfied them both. The witches gifted him with a scarf that they told him to send to Lydia, he didn’t question how they knew about Lydia, and he’d left for New Mexico the next day. He’d spent a month there. He’d contacted one of the names on Deaton’s list. Felicia was younger than Stiles had thought she’d be, only a few years older than him, but she’d been studying from birth. Her Grandmother had taught her, had trained her and once she’d passed, Felicia had taken her place. Stiles wasn’t quite sure what he was there to learn, but he listened, he practised and he became stronger. He conjured fire, channelled his spark into crystals Felicia gave him and managed to do it without exhausting himself.

Before he’d left Felicia, Stiles took a trip to the post office and sent Lydia the scarf, sent his dad a letter and, on impulse, sent a postcard to Derek (“I’m fine, I’m learning - I’ll come back.”) because he couldn’t deny the urge. With the crystals packed in a velvet bag in his backpack, Stiles flew to Ecuador.

He doesn’t like to think about Ecuador. When he does, all he remembers is blood, dead children and crying parents. Stiles thinks he helped, got rid of what was taking the children, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d left quickly.

(Sometimes what he remembers stops him from sleeping)

Stiles fled to Tijuana. He got lost in a bottle. In several bottles. He turned 19 in Tijuana. He doesn’t remember it. He thinks he called Derek.

(Derek never said either way)

One day he woke up sweaty, still drunk, and looked at the date. Stiles realised it was his mother’s birthday. He threw up and booked a flight out of Mexico.

\--

Stiles ended up in Argentina. Another name in Deaton’s book took him in. Matias taught him how to breathe, how to project. Stiles never called it astral projection because it made him feel like he was in an episode of Charmed, but it was something. He didn’t stay long after that. Stiles liked Matias, liked him too much. He couldn’t stay.

He spent Christmas in Mali and New Years in Ghana. Stiles didn’t want to leave Africa. When he reached Egypt, he travelled to Giza. He pulled out his mother’s notebook, looked at the Pyramids, traced her words (“23. visit the Pyramids, ride on a camel”) and let himself cry. When he rode a camel, he couldn’t stop laughing. Stiles thinks his mother would be proud.

In Cape Town, he spent too much money posting gifts home. Stiles got a kick out of imagining the looks on his friends faces. He sent photos of himself on the camel to his dad and to Derek. His dad would know why, and Derek - Stiles wanted Derek to have proof of him being alive, he knew his words wouldn’t be enough.

He had a week in Saudi Arabia before he flew to India. Shivani took him in when he arrived. She knew him before he knew her. Stiles didn’t know how, never questioned it. He spent two months with her, learnt how to channel different energy, new potions and remedies. Stiles spent a night clutching the talisman Derek had given him. The next day he still had marks embedded in his palm and Shivani told him to check the date when he asked why he’d done it. The night had been the anniversary of the Hale fire. Shivani had brushed away the tear that had fallen down his cheek and given him a statue to give to Derek.

Stiles didn’t post it. It was something he had to give in person.

\--

In China he met vampires. Stiles didn’t have to do much, some woman killed them all before he could do anything. It had been impressive. She’d invited him to meet her friends when she realised he hadn’t been freaked out. Stiles had spent two weeks with them, they’d shared information and Stiles had learnt about monsters he’d never even imagined before.

He sent a postcard to Derek when he got to Thailand, (“I met vampires in China. They don’t sparkle. Still human, stop grinding your canines. I’ll come back”) and spent the rest of his time there on the beach.

Stiles went to Japan and found it was the place he felt most like a tourist. He loved it.

In Turkey he met a pack of werewolves. There was a waiter in a restaurant who almost fainted when he walked in. It took Stiles three days to get permission to stay. They hadn’t been hostile, just nervous. Stiles hadn’t realised why until the daughter of a pair of betas told him in a quiet voice that he smelt of Alpha. When he watched the pack interact, he’d felt an ache in his chest that he hadn’t had since he’d left Beacon Hills.

Stiles spent four months going through mainland Europe. He spent more time in Spain than he did in Germany, more time in Austria than he did in France. When he got to Holland, he called his dad. It had had been a year since he left Beacon Hills.

(“I’m not ready to come back yet,” he’d said. “I’m sorry.”)

(“Don’t rush. I love you, son.”)

He travelled to Norway. He turned 20 while he watched the Northern Lights. When he tried to write a postcard to Derek, he hadn’t been able to find the words, (“It felt like anything was possible. It’s naive, but it made me believe. I’ll come back.”) and wished Derek had been with him. For the first time on his trip, Stiles had wanted to share his experience with someone other than his mother.

\--

Stiles rented an apartment in London. He went out, met new people, took trips up and down the UK. When he went to Cardiff, he took photos of the Ianto shrine and emailed them to Erica when he made it back to his hotel. She’d replied with exclamation marks and key mashing.

It had made him miss Beacon Hills.

He’d started to look at flights. Stiles entertained ideas of going back in time for Christmas.

Maybe.

\--

When he’d booked his flights, he only emailed Derek.

\--

Derek picked him up at the airport. He’d waited until Stiles was in the car before he spoke.

(“You’re not staying, are you?”)

Stiles only had one answer to that.

(“No. But I’ll come back.”)

\--

After the summer, Stiles packed up his Jeep and went away for college. He left California, he left the West Coast. He went to New York, attended NYU. Stiles went as far as he could without leaving the country.

He promised he’d be back. He meant it.

\--

Derek visited once. He was in New York on pack business. Stiles never asked what. He stayed with Stiles, he slept in Stiles’ bed and stole Stiles’ pop tarts.

A week after Derek left, Stiles got an industrial sized box of pop tarts from Derek. He didn’t stop laughing for a long time.

\--

Stiles’ dad came for his Graduation. They road tripped back to Beacon Hills together, pushed the Jeep to the limits. When they arrived home, Stiles didn’t get out of the vehicle. His dad climbed out and paused by the door of the Jeep.

(“Go and see him,” he says. “If you’re back for good, go and see him.”)

(“I’m back dad, I swear.”)

\--

Stiles drove to the Hale land and almost crashed when he saw the rebuilt house. Derek was just outside the door, his face oddly vulnerable. Stiles felt Derek track him as he moved closer. He climbed the steps of the porch and rested a hand on Derek’s arm. Derek felt solid, real and it grounded Stiles. A sigh escaped Derek’s mouth and he pulled Stiles against him.

(“You’re taller,” he says. “Taller than me now.”)

(“Are your Alpha senses disturbed by that?”)

Derek laughed at that and Stiles almost melted. They’d gone inside, skipped the couch, headed for Derek’s bedroom and stretched out together. Stiles rested his head on Derek’s chest and told him stories about his travels, about college. Derek told him tales about the pack, about losing Jackson to another pack, about Isaac meeting a newly turned beta and asking Derek if she could join them. They ordered pizza and curled back up on the bed. When they finished, Derek looked at Stiles and asked the question Stiles knew had been coming.

(“Are you back?”)

Stiles leant forward and pressed his lips against Derek’s, soft, chaste, like he’d been wanting to for years. When he pulled back he ran a hand over Derek’s cheek and nodded.

(“I’m back. I’ve come back.”)

**Author's Note:**

> This now has a companion piece: [Still Too Close To You I Feel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/619980), which is Derek's tale of those five years.


End file.
